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"One of the first lessons any student of the Art must learn is how to separate illusion from reality," Chant said, as he stood at the center of a semi-circle of twenty students, mostly prospective initiates of the Corona Cor Igne, and therefore Tiefling, but with a few beings of other races. The Bright Kingdom maintained several Arcanae, but several wizards piled their trade as independent agents. and the Flamehearts had the benefit of notoriety, not to mention exclusivity. Tieflings were

Chant looked up from his search, his breath fogging the chill air in front of him. The icy walls surrounding the party glowed faintly with light streaming through them from outside. Corw'achs looked over at Chant, concern showing plainly on his face, then returned his attention to the western passage, where shapes stirred at the far end, sending sounds of movement toward them. Fear gripped Chant's stomach suddenly, and his tail twitched anxiously.

His eyes closed, awareness unfocused, the word fell across his ears without leaving an impression. Breathe.

"Chant."

The word's repetition caused certain of his mental processes to stir, and he felt the tendrils of the world insinuate themselves back into his consciousness, pulling him against his will into the here and now.

Self-assured to the point of arrogance, Rogur earns his nickname from his wandering eye and unquenchable thirst. Apprenticed at 7 years old to a merchant captain in the port city of Imareska, he's been on the sea for so long he can't remember any other life. Rising to first mate of the sloop Jewel of Imareska, he seemed destined to take over as captain until the ship was sunk during an attack just as they left port. Swimming back to shore, Rogur fled and begun trying to rebuild his life. He is his